(That’s The Question)
“I used to write with a partner. But then I realised I love the sound of my voice too much to share it with someone else.” — Unknown
Plenty of authors collaborate successfully on joint projects. First they outline their idea, then they work out a schedule in which they bang out a chapter each — or they write half a chapter, or five chapters, whatever — and after that, they edit the other’s segments. For some writers, this can work. If they respect their fellow author, if they have similar ideas about what makes a story work, about where the story should head, about character construction, etc., it can be a powerful combination. Stephen King and Peter Straub are a notable twosome. In The Talisman their styles merged — you can’t tell who wrote what — and the whole effort comes across as seamless. Not every pairing works as well as those two, though.
There are also plenty of possible pitfalls to consider.
“There is no such thing as a self-made man.
You will reach your goals only with the help of others.” — George Shinn
When I was younger I wrote comedy skits with a friend. On that occasion it worked. My friend thought I was hilarious (and I tend to agree), so if I suggested a different approach to a joke, nine times out of ten he’d laugh at it and we’d make the change. On the occasion he didn’t agree, I knew he was right. It just didn’t tickle his funny bone. Our personalities and sense of humour were so in sync that collaborating came naturally. We had no problems with it. He’s still my best friend.
However, I’ve found that case to be a rarity, both from my own experiences and from other writers I know. Finding someone you truly mesh with is one in a million.
For a start, unless you’re fully in sync, you’re going to clash. If you enjoy the person’s writing, that doesn’t mean you’ll get along when writing together. You need to have a close friendship with your collaborator and be aware of their likes and dislikes and make sure they’re similar to your own. Working with someone of a different culture, with a different background, intelligence level, and humour, etc., can be a mistake. You both tug and pull in different directions. You want to murder someone halfway through — he wants that person in the sequel. It can cause endless arguments.
On the flip-side, if you work with someone whose ideas are too similar to your own, you won’t challenge each other and your ideas may be flat and too comfortable.
The reason for a collaboration should be to step out of your comfort zone. Push the boundaries and break through into new, unchartered territory.
If not, what’s the point? You might as well just write it by yourself.
“Alone we can do so little; together we can do so much” ― Helen Keller
My next experience of collaboration didn’t work for me. I connected with a film director (now a friend and mentor of mine) and we cooked up a few ideas together for scripts and began working on them. For the most part I dealt with the writing side and he took on the role of editor — sending back first drafts with notes and further ideas for development. And although, in the long run, he helped my progress as a writer with some insightful comments, I also felt like our ideas were way too opposite. If I wanted a blue bus, he wanted a red pony. If I wanted planes, he wanted trains. That wasn’t him being difficult, or even him producing bad ideas, we just had two different but valid approaches to the same problem, and that didn’t work for me.
I guess I could have argued my side until he accepted my way of thinking, but there’s no point collaborating if I’m going to do my own thing anyway. You have to compromise, and with every compromise you can lose a little of your art. The more you accept ideas that aren’t yours, the more the story is shaped away from your vision, and that always grated on me.
When you think about it, a collaboration is double the work, not half. At first it seems like the easier option: you have someone to share the workload, someone to add input to the story and construction, and someone who’ll be at your side to champion your corner and spur you on. But it’s actually harder to maintain control. What starts out as a joint project, may morph into something that is either completely removed from your starting point, or something you don’t recognise as your own. That can be devastating, especially if you’ve worked hard on it. You want to feel like you’ve given birth to something great — not that you’ve compromised your integrity to please someone else.
Otherwise you’re left with an empty feeling at the end of the project.
“Individually, we are one drop.
Together, we are an ocean.” – Ryunosuke Satoro
My problem is that I want to control things; this, I suppose, is why I’m a novelist. I became an author in order to create worlds and manipulate them how I see fit, like a kind of storytelling sociopath. And if someone else is part of that process, I’m relinquishing the control I’d originally sought out.
My collaborator was a director so he was used to compromising. It didn’t bother him. He understood that scripts can go through hundreds of changes before filming. That’s not how I work, though — I have my vision and I like to follow it right to the end, although that doesn’t mean I’m ignorant to suggestions. If, afterwards, I can find a way to strengthen my work through rewrites or restructuring, that’s cool. I’ll pick it apart and make it stronger. But giving a scene more depth is very different from replacing one character with someone else’s invention.
But maybe you can handle that. Maybe I’m overly precious and difficult. However, if you do decide to follow this route, make sure you find someone you click with — not just on a personal level, but with film and story ideas. Ask him what films or books he likes. If he enjoys everything you hate, you have a problem. You’re not on the same page, and you need to know that up front. You don’t want to butt heads three hundred pages in and realise your minds are turned in different directions.
Two creative minds can be a dangerous thing when you clash on an idea. You both believe your one is superior and there’s no way to settle it unless someone folds.
And the guy who folds will usually regret it in the long run.
So if you decide to collaborate, pick your partner carefully.
It’s the most important decision you’ll make in the whole process.
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